Into Heart of Darkness

I have been resting, running away, watching sports – scared to write, not wanting to know what I know.

Now, though every cell of me is exhausted, and sickness is shadowing my waking time – I will write to my fury, write to my deep grief, and write to my fallen warrior-spirit.

Yes, this may be hard to read, but if you not a survivor of the sex trade, do not use that as excuse to turn.

If you are exited, only read this if you can and it may add something. For I do not write anything exited women do not know and often need to shut down.

This piece may be fragmented, it may seemed non-directed. This piece of writing is a howling at the dark.

All that is that this howling is not just reflected back into me – but is heard and used as a catalyst for radical choice for all the prostituted.

I will begin at my beginning, my entrance into prostitution.

A time that I had to believe I had chosen, a time when I refuse to face the living death I was living.

I want to speak to that time, with a forensic eye to finding my truths, with a political heart and mind to see how I was pushed and pulled into the sex trade.

To begin, I must see my young teenage Self who was entering the sex trade.

I was young – a young 14-year-old.

I thought I was experienced – hadn’t I been a sex object since I was 6, hadn’t stood alone in areas filled with prostituted women – but I was dangerously naïve.

I knew I was tough – hadn’t I learnt never to cry, didn’t I feel no pain when my step-dad finger-fucked me and eat me out, didn’t I swear when men ask how much – but inside was a terrified and confused child.

That was me when I queued to be let in the sex club. That was me as men 10 to 30 older, were there to pick me out.

I did not show fear, for I had no idea what hell was opening up for me.

I went as cattle goes to a slaughterhouse – with no insight to the future.

I felt I had been chosen, that I was special – that if there was sex it would be quick and then I could go with cash in my pocket.

I had been made ready for prostitution, by sexual and mental abuse since I was 6.

I had learnt how to pleased men when thinking I might be killed.

I had learnt to close down pain, close down fear and be a robot.

I thought I was ready – but incest was just the rehearsal, and a weak rehearsal at that.

I had no concept what prostitution was – it is not incest, it is not date rape, it is not battery, it is not torture, it is not mental violence, it is not gang rape – well, it is all of that but much much more.

All I can say in words is that prostitution is the stripping of human rights of the prostituted over and over and over and over again, until the prostituted became dead inside, a robot outside – are sexual goods to be used and thrown away.

To understand what it is to be prostituted, we must enter the heart of darkness where the sex trade and its consumers produce a class named as prostituted to be endlessly exploited.

For if we are to end prostitution, we must focus on the source of the hell, not the individuals being oppressed.

There would no prostitution without the male demand for sexual greed.

Prostitution was designed for and by men – it can never be made feminist, never be part of any radical thought that includes women.

Prostitution is the worship of the male orgasm – that is its only purpose.

This worshipping is made by creating as much pain and humiliation as men can imagine to the prostituted.

The creed of this religion of the male orgasm could be seen as –

“Always remember nothing is being done to nothing.

A sex object named as the prostitute has no feelings, no emotions and knows no harm.

Violence done to prostituted is good and will bring you status with other men.

It is not violence, it is entertainment, it is a game, it is a commercial exchange.

If you feel guilt or doubt, remember it is always the prostituted women who forced you to do it.

Remember money makes any so-called crime invisible.

Money is consent.

Money is the best silencing machine.”

That is what is being forced into the prostituted every moment of everyday.

That hate and violence is the foundation stones of all that we named as prostitution – including porn, stripping, working in saunas etc.

To be prostituted is to know every rape, every battery, every ways to be tortured and every murder can be made into nothing.

That is nothing is happening to nothing.

All violation of the prostituted can classed as a non-crime.

That is living in hell.

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2 responses to “Into Heart of Darkness

  1. Reblogged this on Gender Is War and commented:
    I knew I was tough – hadn’t I learnt never to cry, didn’t I feel no pain when my step-dad finger-fucked me and eat me out, didn’t I swear when men ask how much – but inside was a terrified and confused child.

    I did not show fear, for I had no idea what hell was opening up for me.

    I went as cattle goes to a slaughterhouse – with no insight to the future.

    I felt I had been chosen, that I was special – that if there was sex it would be quick and then I could go with cash in my pocket.

    I had been made ready for prostitution, by sexual and mental abuse since I was 6.

    I had learnt how to pleased men when thinking I might be killed.

    I had learnt to close down pain, close down fear and be a robot.

    I thought I was ready – but incest was just the rehearsal, and a weak rehearsal at that.

    Like

  2. Thank you so much for writing this blog. I have been reading and I’m so sorry you had to go through what you did.

    Your courage to speak out is giving me the courage to speak. I grew up with incest. Both of my parents sexually abused me, and other family members did as well. When I was a child I was hospitalized many times for what my mom did to me. But doctors kept giving me back to her. I was too young to understand and have a voice.

    “I thought I was ready – but incest was just the rehearsal, and a weak rehearsal at that.”

    I relate to this. I have often felt that incest was the rehearsal to the other ways people have mistreated me.

    Like

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